Blood splashed and gushed like some gruesome fantasy fountain
The razor stood tall over it all like a god upon his mountain
All consuming ever demanding as he cried for more and more
So I cut and sliced and scratched and diced as I never had before
Out it poured like the finest wine, flowing freely from the source
It ran in rivulets down the blades and continued on its course
Into the drain like crimson rain it crashed and splashed and bled
So willingly dispensed my life so the razor could be fed

His royal silver majesty raised the taxes ever higher
Till the cuts no longer healed; instead they constantly burned like fire
Now sweaters and sleeves could not hide the cleaves as they rubbed and itched and scratched
If this were a contest of which king could conquest the most than mine went unmatched
Those sleeves, those damned sleeves would greedily gobble as they tore at those scabs with nary a care
I knew he could smell way up on the shelf that his tribute was giving his share
Then one day he slipped, that once sturdy grip with a sudden snick gave way
That king had grown greedy and ever more needy and taken my whole life that day